


Too Dark To See

by J3 (CaseMatthews)



Series: Vintage Tales of ABO [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alpha Dean Winchester, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Blind Character, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Mark of Cain, Omega Castiel, Pack Dynamics
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-02
Updated: 2015-05-26
Packaged: 2018-02-23 21:03:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2555588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaseMatthews/pseuds/J3
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's 1884 and Alpha packs are taking their rights in Southern Colorado.</p><p>Castiel, a blind omega lost from his own family in the middle of the woods, stumbles across an unmated Alpha and his pack--and, God, he tries to run. But Dean? Dean has some other ideas altogether. </p><p>And he really doesn't care who agrees with them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Getting dark, darling.

**Author's Note:**

> Warning, guys, Dean in this story is a gigantic peice of shit (to be begin with) and he practically tortures cas but all will become clear. This is ample warning, okay, trigger warning! Rape! There is rape!

Castiel’s not alone, and that’s the first thing he really registers in what must be over five hours.

Something shifts over to his right; the familiar thud of a boot print hitting the earth ( _not a paw yet, thank god, he still has a chance_ )—estimated about ten yards away but nearing. He doesn’t stop his manoeuvring because he doesn’t dare. They probably don’t know he’s clocked onto them yet and that is definitely the way he wishes for it to stay.

More shuffling sounds and, yes, they’re moving specifically around him now: more footsteps to his right and twigs snapping over the earth just about a pace to his back.

He stops at that one. Halts his motions and breathes for a few seconds, gathering his wits and hoping beyond anything that Gabriel’s ‘scent-potion’ has lasted this long.

_Please, God._

They know now, they know he can sense them. According to the air around him and the shift from daytime creatures to those hooting of the night, they’re still canopied by the dark. It’s all he can do to hope.

Castiel lowers his hands to his sides from where they were held permanently in front of him to guide his way, and tilts his chin into the air. They’ll be scenting him now; an idiot beta trespassing on their land, lost in their way if he’s really very lucky. It’s dangerous but a lot better than the reality. Better than the truth. Gabriel had promised hadn’t he? How long is this supposed to last?

 _Just long enough,_ _please_.

“I can hear you,” he calls into the dark, lifting his nose to scent. Five of them. Human currently, not shifted, not yet. There’re alphas in there, three of them, but that’s not what turns Castiel stomach cold. There’s an Alpha; deep in the scent and mingled beneath them but God, powerful on its own, and the closest one to him.

Gabriel was never specific on the scent-marker working on an Alpha.

And Castiel’s luck has never been particularly gracious.

“I’m sure you can,” He says, cutting through the chilled silence with a deep, demanding voice. “We weren’t exactly being quiet.”

“I’m trespassing,” Castiel acknowledges, hoping his tactic might ( _please_ ) just work. “I apologise, I didn’t know. I will leave the way I came instantly.”

“Wait there a second, little trespasser,” the Alpha says, and He’s closer than He was but Castel didn’t hear Him move. How didn’t he hear Him move? “As you can imagine, we don’t take so lightly to ‘visitors’. You might have to excuse our need to investigate.”

The others chuckle and Castiel can feel a breath huff against his skin. He manages mutely not to flinch.

“I’m sorry,” he tries again, verging on desperate now, his inner omega screaming _dangerdangerdanger_ and really, this is very, very much not good. He can’t run though. He’ll never lose them, not in their own territory and not in the middle of a forest with nothing but the scent of sap and bark surrounding him, tree trunks and twigs beneath his feet to guide his navigation. “I lost my way, and I apologise. Please, I…”

A hand, warm and damp with sweat, claps against his mouth and he chokes on it, flushing at the keen his exhausted throat betrays into the air. He (it’s Him, oh God, it’s _Him_ ) pushes His breaths against the heated skin on Castiel’s cheek—purposeful and intimidating, he makes sure Castiel’s absolutely certain of his whereabouts. As though there was ever any question to it.

“Hush, little thing, calm down,” He says, and Castiel can hear and _sense_ the grin stretching his lips.

This close an Alpha could smell him out, surely, nothing in the world’s that good to hide an omega from their potential mate.

He scents the air, Castiel can hear him.

_Please. I’ll ask for nothing ever again, just please…_

The hand shifts and then yanks, tugging Castiel’s face further in the grip it now holds at his chin, bruising his jaw but that’s not the _point_ , he can feel huffs of breath on his lips—parted, panting—and he knows, God he _knows_ , that he’s been found out.

“What are you?” The Voice whispers.

“Mated. Promised,” Castiel tries, pulling back against his hold but halting at the second set of fingers lacing and tugging through his hair. “I have an Alpha where I come from, you can’t—”

“Omega.”

Oh God.

“Fuck, really?” says another voice, echoed beyond the Alpha.

Castiel doesn’t pay attention. Nothing exists beyond this, all air is still as the Alpha takes his catch in and understands it; the omega caught (terrifyingly close to literally) between his unforgiving claws. Castiel, a limp, damaged piece of meat good for nothing but a good fuck and a tight hole. A virgin hole. He can smell it, Castiel’s so sure.

“Look at me,” the Alpha says, voice tilted in a childish curiousity.

He’s just rubbing it in, he knows Castiel can’t, he knows, he knows…

“ _Look at me_ ,” fuck, that’s a growl.

“I can’t!” Castiel hisses instantly through the grip, incredulous. His eyes were angled down like they always are when he has them open, but he shifts them higher when the hands become too tight, too threatening to ignore. “I _can’t_.”

There’s silence then, as the Alpha takes in his pitiful catch. Clouded sky, like blue periwinkle if Meg’s to be trusted, patch-work over non-existent pupils. The Alpha can see them in the dark—Castiel knows, Joshua always could—so he must see this omega for what he really is and hopefully ( _please_ ) he just takes what he wants and leaves. If Castiel stays put once he has no other choice, the others will find him. Of course they will. They’re very good at scenting out blood.

“I’m no use to you,” Castiel insists, reaching out and seeking the worn leather fabric of this being, clutching it against solid angles of muscles and skin. “Please, leave me here or let me go. I have a pack.”

“You’re blind,” says He, and Castiel drops the useless things again, cheeks heating. As if that weren’t blaringly obvious when Castiel didn’t so much as glance at him. As if he wouldn’t look around him for the danger as opposed to depending on scent and sound alone. As if Castiel wouldn’t use them every second he has.

“Yes,” he whispers back, dropping his fingers lower on the body, releasing their tug. “ _Please_.”

The hands (they smell strong, like Alpha and hunger and dirt and moss, only ever brought around from multiple shifts, like Gabriel and Anna) slide from their grip and loosen as though Castiel’s suddenly delicate from the thing this being was gripping before, swooping around Castiel’s head and cupping the angles of his jaw. His head’s tilted up.

“Where’s your pack?” and His voice is mocking.

“I got lost. But…they’re not far. They’ll look everywhere for me, I can assure you. You’ll bring nothing but danger to your pack if you steal me from them.” It should work, it really should. They’ve rehearsed speeches like this multiple times, curled together on the bedroll in a train carriage or scenting one another on the back of a horse—because Gabriel’s protective like nothing else. He’ll be going crazy with the loss of his omegan brother. Castiel needs to return to him, he must.

“You’re not mated,” He says.

Castiel shakes his head. “Our Alpha passed before the last winter, before he could..." _claim me._ "But I _am_ promised to another. It’s a planned deal and I can’t be taken from it; please, if you leave me now they’ll find me. Just go.”

His voice echoes in a growl and Castiel’s omega instincts flinch away from it, hands curling around strong forearms above him. “You don’t belong to anyone unless there’s a mark. Lost in the woods,” He scoffs, “What a very stupid thing to be.”

“ _Please_ ,” Castiel begs because he can very well guess what’s happening next, “Please, Alpha, I have a home waiting for me, I—”

“Hush,” and the hand reappears over Castiel’s mouth, softer, calmer than before but Castiel still mewls beneath it. “You have a home without an Alpha. What kind of home is that for you, hmm?”

Castiel struggles when the next set of hands grip him, and the next and the next until he loses count of them—alpha’s and betas alike grabbing at him and holding, clutching him steady and still…until one hand, thin and cool but too strong, moves to tug at his breeches. Castiel screams then. The sound, of course, is muffled by the Alpha hand still coating his mouth, but he gives it everything he has and he bucks against the holdings, snapping at the hand silencing him and thrashing against the rest of them.

“Calm down, little one,” Alpha says, his mouth inches from Castiel’s throat because he can feel it, hot breath damp against his skin and forcing condensation, willing it into existence and following him as he’s led to the ground—pants gone to pool at his boots, shirt and waistcoat hauled up to his chest and held there to reveal the pale stretch of skin Castiel hasn’t seen since he was fourteen, brandished to the world and—

They rip his undergarments clean off and leave them there in the dirt.

Castiel can’t breathe—the hand’s not exactly helping matters, pinning his head to the floor like it is with spines and leaves burying themselves in his hair—but…he’s not ignorant like Meg sometimes says. He knows, alright? He knows what’s about to happen to him ( _someone’s pulling his bare thighs apart, please God, please_ ) what he’s about to do. The-the Alpha…Castiel will belong to him. Nothing overwrites the bite of an Alpha, nothing. Castiel’s never even had sex, this is…

_Please, God, please no, don’t make me…_

“Hush little one, good boy,” Alpha’s crooning in Castiel’s ear but he’s not paying attention—his crotch and everything with it is bare to the world and someone ( _Him, He’ll do it_ ) is about to take something away from him he’ll never get back—not just his virginity, if that was all, Castiel would offer it in a silver platter. No, because with it, with this forced act, Castiel will never see his family again. He’ll be dragged into another pack land if not killed, they’ll keep him in Alpha’s bedroom or his cave, dammit, Castiel doesn’t know, but he’ll never hear Gabriel’s tales or taste Balthazar’s cooking, he’ll never curl up happy and content without cutthroat fear lingering over him like right at this second, this is his life now, oh God…

“Please,” Castiel begs, echoing the word over and over again but it’s utterly mute beneath his warm gag. “Don’t, don’t, don’t…”

“You can rest soon, omega, just a few more minutes and you can rest,” and they’re turning him over, shoving him face first into the dirt and holding him down there, cheek mashed against a pile of moulding leaves. Someone fits their hands beneath his hips and lifts, tugging until his knees are balanced beneath him and his backside is innocent against the cold air.

The hand leaves him and Castiel hollers, “Gabriel! Brother! Please, please stop, please! No, no, no, no, no, please don’t do this, they’ll find you, they’ll find—”

He chokes off when something (something’s _, more than one_ ) push themselves inside him, inside his hole and he screams a sob, he bucks against the hands grabbing him and bruising, shoving him to the floor and threatening—the fingers ( _fingers, that’s what they are, he can feel the thumb against his cheek_ ) push against his walls, rubbing up against him in gentle motions but it burns because there’s nothing soothing their way, he’s never been stretched before, it’s _burning him alive_.

“Quiet, little boy—we’re getting you wet, that’s all, it’s okay,” the Alpha says, rough voice soft against him but he’s threatening, Castiel can tell, and, _God_ , he’ll never be wet from this, it’s hurting him, it hurts…

“ _Hurts_ ,” he sobs out, ducking away the few inches he can. “It’s hurting!”

“Okay, alright, we’ll just get this over with then, huh? Quick and easy, here we go,” and the fingers leave—emptying him completely but leaving behind the pain, the ache and humiliation, maybe if he could see them he could actually fight back—

“Aaah!” 

_Hurts, hurts so bad, oh just kill him, kill him and make it better, please, please…_

“Ugh, please, ah, ah, please stop it, please,” he cries, words hitching with every thrust inside him, every pull out of the Alpha’s member as he roots his way straight in there and drags himself out, completely dry without Castiel’s slick but he can feel something, something useless wetting the Alpha’s way and it must be spit, must have spit into his hole, please, please, please…

“Good boy,” he croons, hands like vices on Castiel’s hips. “Close, little one, just a few minutes…”

Lucifer…he’ll be angry, won’t he? Castiel’s never met him but he was promised, he was meant for someone else, the alpha coming from Canada to keep their pack—not this thief with his cock buried inside Castiel.

He goes limp when the teeth push into the meat of his shoulder, puncturing his natural pressure point where his real mating mark should go. He collapses into the hands enveloping him, head lolling into the mud until someone—a female, an alpha—moves it away for him, onto his side. He’s blinking up at nothing the same way he has been doing for the last three years, eyes heavy but he just can’t bring himself to always keep them closed. He doesn’t want to close them now. He’s more alert like this. Brighter.

The Alpha comes a short while later, but he doesn’t knot, which Castiel supposes is good. He doesn’t care. He can feel the blood dripping from the bite, feel it pooling at the dip of his spine and that’s all that matters because his world is officially over. No more brothers. No more happiness. Just this thief.

Castiel’s turned over when the Alpha pulls out, his breeches tugged up to him and his shirts pulled back down. They leave him there for a few seconds and he doesn’t move.

“We have the collar?” he hears Alpha say.

Someone else mumbles an answer but Castiel can’t hear.

“Good. I want him waking up with it, get him accustomed. Sam, grab him, get him home.”

And as someone else—alpha too, tall from the height Castiel’s lifted to, muscular beneath the layer of wool—carries him on, all Castiel can think is: _‘I don’t even know his name.’_

And then, pulsing within: _‘I hate them all.’_


	2. Clarity which clouds my mind...

By the time Castiel rouses into consciousness again, he’s almost certain that it’s day. Obviously he can’t see for his deductions, but the air has lost that muggy feeling it usually has during the night, and he can’t hear the usual hoots of owls or shuffles of the mice running from them. He may, of course, just be inside (in fact he would bet he is—the rooms too hot to be without a fire) but he’s sure it’s at least morning. Besides, he didn’t sleep that long.

His eyes open instinctually and he straightens out on the bed of furs and cloth laid down beneath him, digging his fingers into the foreign texture and wondering idly whether the buffalo’s fur is brown or black. Not that it matters. He’ll soon forget what those colors even look like. He can’t even remember the exact hue of Anna’s hair any longer, and that was a hard thing to get over. Luckily Gabriel was there when—

Yes, Castiel shouldn’t think of his siblings at a time like this. For all he knows, the Alpha could be watching him from a corner somewhere with his cock out ready to officially knot, and here Castiel is thinking about his past. Ignorance. That’s what got him in this position in the first place.

He’s caught, momentarily, between slamming his eyes shut again to play dead like Balthazar’s dozy hound, or shuffling obviously enough to gain someone’s attentions.

In the end he coughs  loud enough for anyone near to hear because he’s never enjoyed the suspense.

Someone shifts to his right—standing up, maybe, Castiel can hear their knees click—and booted feet draw nearer on a soft ground, maybe more fur. Probably. They halt close by, though, and then the mound of his make-do bed dips to his side as more weight is added and the person sits down. Alpha, but not _the_ Alpha. Female; one Castiel recognizes, actually, as the one who tilted his head away from the earth when he thought he might suffocate. Castiel finds he hates her.

A hand, unnaturally warm, as though she’s been propping it over the fire, strokes a path along his bare chest (a foreign shirt that smells of unused musk pulled wide at his sternum) before halting her quest at Castiel’s throat. He flinches and then freezes when he realizes and feels just exactly what she’s touching. He jolts away and flies one of his own hands to toy with the collar at his throat; the warmed, soft leather joined by a chilled buckle to the right side, about the width of two fingers and just loose enough to fit two through. Feels like a noose right now though, and Castiel’s sitting up in under a second, clawing at the fixture.

The alpha growls, but Castiel’s not bothering with instincts right now, so he doesn’t freeze or offer his throat. He just keeps picking at the buckle and willing it out of existence, willing the length of ownership as far away from his throat as possible so he never has to remember it was there.

He obeys, though, when the alpha snaps at him. He lays back down when unrelenting hands push him there and hold and tug at the collar, reiterating whatever threat they’re trying to.

Castiel whimpers when the same hands tug his shirt down and spread themselves over his torso.

“Calm down,” she says impatiently, her movements rough. She tugs him over, forcing him to his front quickly and ensuring, once again, that he’s not going to choke on whatever happens to be right beneath his airways. The shirts tugged further and then fingers trace the bite-mark on his shoulder, and he relents, unwillingly, relaxing into the sheets.

“Mm,” she hums, prodding at the sore outline. “It’ll heal soon. Dean’s gonna have to get at it again.”

Castiel holds in a helpless whine that anyone’s going to be _‘going at it’_ ever, let alone Dean. Who Castiel’s going to assume is the ominous Alpha figure who will be haunting his nightmares and bed for years to come. If _Dean_ wants him around that long, that is. He might grow tired of Castiel’s inability to see his ‘good looks’.

“So,” she says, releasing him. He doesn’t bother turning back over; what’s the point? “What’s your name, omega?”

Castiel shrugs slowly against the furs and scrunches his face against a cloth pillow. “Castiel,” he says distractedly, because apparently picking at a pull of thread beneath his fingers is far more important.

“Castiel? Weird fucking name, buddy,” she says. “I’m Joanna-Beth, but if you call me that, I’ll break you.” Of course, Castiel isn’t stupid. His own pack ( _old pack_ ) was lenient enough to allow Samandriel and himself to call alphas by name, he knows not everyone is so— “Call me Jo.”

Oh. Right.

“I can call you Cas, right? No offence, but the rest is kind of a mouthful.” Castiel nods, unsure. “Good. So,” she pushes something at his hair, reassembling where it must have matted during his sleep, “blind, huh? How’d that happen?”

Castiel fidgets where he’s lying, though it’s not like he’s never been asked the question. In fact it was another line he practiced with Gabriel when they could, offering and answering the quickest response.

Castiel’s timid, but he uses it now, “I grew ill when I was fourteen and this was the result.”

Quick, to the point, simple. Most people don’t bother lengthening the discussion, especially if they can see how uncomfortable Castiel’s made by it, and, thankfully, this _Jo_ is one of them.

“Oh,” she says, stroking a finger down his bare spine. “That sucks, huh?”

Castiel nods.

She sighs again, and moves on. “You smell awesome by the way. Really good. How old are you?”

_How long have you been an omega?_

“Seventeen,” Castiel mutters, curling tighter to himself. “I presented at sixteen.”

“And no Alpha, right? Must’ve sucked.” Castiel shivers when she traces his flesh lower, nail scratching lightly against the narrow meat of his hips.

“I’m not…I wasn’t the only omega in the pack. We got each other through.” Samandriel was at least a month younger, but he presented at thirteen, back when Joshua was his helping hand. Castiel only ever had Samandriel’s tongue (keeping chaste for Lucifer, or apparently Dean) and heats were never enjoyable. Even if Gabriel did use to cook pies and fresh bread for him, it was never the same.

Now Castiel’s thankful, if this is what sex with an Alpha feels like. Hell. Pain.

Gabriel would have held him through it, Castiel’s sure. If he were Alpha. Even proud, mature Michael.

Anything better than a stranger in the woods.

Someone walks in through the flap of fabric (a gust of wind enters and it slaps against a wall) which means they’re in a tent. It’s a scent he recognises as the last thing invading his senses before he drifted into unconsciousness, the giant alpha who carried him here. Sam, was it? He walks in anyway, and Jo stands up, fingers leaving him.

“Ellen’s asking for you. I’m supposed to ‘dress’ him for Dean,” Sam says, voice sounding irritated and choppy, growing in volume as he moves closer. Castiel turns his head the other way and curls, shrinking himself in the fur to offer less of an imposing target. Jo leaves quickly with her fresh scent, and Castiel’s left alone with the alpha giant. He starts shivering and he’s not entirely sure he knows how to stop.

This isn’t even Alpha. How’s he gonna be with the real threat here?

“Cas, right?” he asks, and Castiel nods slowly, inching lower. “Yeah, I heard you talking to Jo.” He sighs and moves closer because Castiel can hear him, feel him move towards the bed of furs, and then his hand’s on Castiel’s bare shoulder, dwarfing the slim joint. Castiel doesn’t jolt away, but he does whimper, and that’s somehow worse. Sam doesn’t relent though, so Castiel squirms. “Look, omega, I’m sorry for what Dean’s done to you. I _told_ him—you know, if it’s any constellation, he does feel bad. He shouldn’t have fucking _raped_ you in the middle of the forest, and I think he does get that. But he’s an Alpha, you know, so…whatever, Cas, there’s no excuse and I’m not giving him one. I’m just saying he’s not all bad, and if you get him to care about you, he’ll protect you like nothing else so just don’t…don’t piss him off, right? He’s the Alpha for a reason so…yeah.”

Castiel nods obediently and offers the nape of his throat to this new alpha. Sam palms it gently, calmly, and Castiel soothes somewhat.

“Look, buddy, he sent me here to get you ready, so…you gonna help me out here?”

Castiel jerks. “Ready for what?” he asks.

Sam exhales slowly and retrieves his hand. “Not my place, kid. I’m his brother and his Second, but damn if he ever tells me shit. Just here to get you washed and prepared, so…up and at ‘em, I guess.”

Castiel climbs from the bed when Sam starts tugging him up, letting himself be propped into standing vast inches below the alpha’s own height. Sam undresses him clinically, but Castiel’s heart still throbs viciously, and by the way Sam’s barely touching flesh, he can tell.

“Over here,” he prompts, and leads Castiel over the floor (definitely fur—wolf, probably) to a small corner where he’s deposited by a copper or tin basin and asked quickly to stand in it. He does and Sam goes about cleaning.

“I’m Sam, by the way,” he offers—probably a distraction for both of them when his hands get jarringly close to Castiel’s crotch. “That’s what you can call me.”

“Sam,” Castiel agrees, nodding. He balances his hands on Sam’s shoulders when the alpha moves to wash Castiel’s bottom half, cloth darting mechanically up, over and _just in_ Castiel’s hole, before he moves on and coughs, scent tinged with embarrassment. “Can I ask you a question, Sam?” Castiel asks, erring on the side of caution.

Castiel thinks Sam nods before remembering Castiel can’t see him, so he says quickly, “Sure,” and scrubs Castiel’s feet. Sore after such a long walk.

“Am I the only one here?” he asks.

Sam nods again before saying awkwardly, “Yeah. The Winchester pack hasn’t had an omega for a really long time; a lot of us still aren’t keen on the idea, especially the elders. ‘specially after they found out what Dean did to you.” Yes? Good. Castiel hopes they revoke him. He pauses before saying, “Dean gets lonely, I think. He won’t hurt you maliciously, Cas. You’re safe with him.”

“Mm,” Castiel says.

Sam dresses him, in the end, in a pair of Dean’s too big breeches (“So you’re scented like him”) and a loose, unbuttoned shirt, nothing beneath either. It’s scratchy to say the least, but if it placates the Alpha, then Castiel won’t complain.

He walks Castiel slowly—showing he’s decent enough by letting him get his bearings first and feel quickly along the walls so he can at least get an idea of where they are—before gripping him and walking with purpose once they get into a wider area (the wind is greater without obtrusion) because of what Castiel guesses has to do with the number of prying eyes. At least twenty, he can smell them even in the wind.

Sam lets him feel the flap to Alpha’s tent (it reeks of the thief) before ushering him inside and depositing him near-about the centre.

“Your _catch_ , Alpha,” Sam sneers, already near the entryway, behind Castiel.

“Hold your tongue, brother,” the Alpha says, voice irritated yet bored all on its own, and Castiel’s spine shrivels in fear. He’s close. Too close. Oh God, Castiel can’t do this again. He can’t, not so soon. “And leave, will you? Tell Bobby to go take a run, I can smell him from here.”

“Fucking, Christ,” Sam mumbles, voice muffled from the thick fabric of the tent, “not without reason, you jackass…” and then he’s gone. Castiel keeps his head lowered with everything he has to the wolf-fur beneath him—when Alpha advances in careful footfalls, Castiel starts trembling, but he doesn’t raise his head. No point either way, but he was always trained to look at the ground. At least this is a semblance of the idea.

“You smell unhappy,” Dean says, sounding genuinely confused. Like…as though Castiel wasn’t just _raped_ not twenty-four hours ago, or stolen from his own pack. As though he doesn’t know exactly what this monster plans to do with him after being interrupted the last time he fucked him.

Castiel scoffs incredulously before he can help it, and gasps in despair when his head is yanked upright.

“I’ll take good care of you, you know,” the Alpha says, pressing closer until his entire _naked_ length is pressed close to Castiel. He’s never felt so demeaned in the presence of a naked person before—as though Castiel’s the vulnerable one. Not that he isn’t, because he is. “ _I_ won’t leave you out in the middle of the forest; won’t let you get _lost_.”

Castiel moans unhappily when a hand threads down the back of his- _Dean’s_ -breeches and palms at one full cheek.

“I’ll be your eyes, little one. Look up,” he demands, and his grip is unrelenting at Castiel’s jaw, his reaction is basic survival. “Those pretty eyes. Look for me, angel, alright? I want to see them even if you can’t. Always look up for me.”

It’s not that Castiel doesn’t _want_ to follow that rule; he just knows he’ll unwittingly disobey at least ten times within the next few days, because the notion is so utterly foreign to him. He won’t mean it. He just will.

He nods anyway, and the Alpha seems to placate.

“We can make it good now, hmm? I know I hurt you before, baby, I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to, but you needed to belong to me. But now,” he prods a few fingers against Castiel’s opening, massaging against the dry, furled muscle, and Castiel arches into him, “we can go slow and sweet. Get you writhing for me, huh?”

And when he lowers Castiel to the bed, strips him quickly and buries his whirling tongue straight up Castiel’s hole? Well, he’s not exactly inclined to disagree with him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lookie!! Fanart!!! by the marvelous Ccalamity4 on deviantart, check her out ;)


	3. on the noose around your neck

Dean grows startlingly possessive knotted to Castiel.

Soft, slumbered growls keep escaping his throat in an almost rhythmic fashion as he tucks them both down beneath the furs—arms like a vice holding Castiel in, keeping him to that firm, toned chest. He snarls in threat if Castiel so much as flinches; snaps lowered fangs close to Castiel’s ear if the knot is so much as nudged.

And knotting, by the way, _hurts_.

They don’t tell you that during heat, with the first omega’s fingers easing that ache even slightly, when they speak of knot’s as some mystical, mythical thing.

They don’t tell you the first press of Alpha cock inside your channel, even wet, for a change, and already permeated from virginity  feels like a train passing through a tiny cottage door-way—so they certainly don’t damn well prepare you for the knot.

Dean was eager, and Castiel suspects that may be a problem if they continue to do this. If the Alpha doesn’t simply grow tired and discard of him. He’s sure there must be bruises on at least every limb—some sucked into the soft skin of his neck, littered around the once again throbbing lines of the mating-bite. He’d thrust for too long, enjoyed Castiel’s cries of protest when the thing should have been safely buried inside him already, and ended up having to force it past Castiel’s sore muscles, already tightening in preparation for his Alpha’s come. Dean’s hand had been harsh and solid when he pressed it to what had essentially been Castiel’s bladder, as though he could feel the knot pulsing through skin and meat and organ.

Castiel came on instinct as omegas are prone to do, rippling around his Alpha’s girth, inducing the man’s own orgasm, the spill of seed pushed deeply into Castiel’s insides, and even Dean’s sperm seemed to act unnecessarily forcefully.

Dean had scooped up Castiel’s transparent come from his stomach and the furs and painted it to his parted, panting lips, growling lightly when his omega tried to even lick it off, get it away. It was irritating—is still irritating, but Castiel’s too exhausted to worry much about it now.

Castiel’s also relatively certain he’s bleeding. Whether it’s quelled now or not, he’s unsure, but the distinct scent of spilt blood had dripped into the room even before his shoulder blade was once again mauled. Not to mention the hole-splitting pain. Castiel had whined as the knot formed, whimpered as it repeatedly caught on his tender rim, and full out _sobbed_ when it’s owner shoved it into his channel and all but hoped for the best in his omega coming despite it all, to incite his own terrifying orgasm.

Castiel had gone to poke at his hole, raised one shaky leg up to his chest and reached a trembling hand back to his ass—had frozen like deer in torch-light when his Alpha actually, full on, _roared_ at him.

Roared. Like an animal. Like…like he wasn’t human, wasn’t in control.

The rest of the pack must have heard that, Castiel had thought obscenely, clenching his fingers to poke into his palms. He had wondered if they thought him dead. Or at least their Alpha mortally injured, maybe stabbed in his sleep.

He pressed the rumbling tail end of the noise to Castiel’s throat, latched there, breathing heavily. He hasn’t moved in the last twenty minutes. Castiel hasn’t drawn a single full breath since.

“We should be able to separate soon, little one,” he offers now, and there is no trace of that threat, of that animal in his voice. Even his hands are gentle on Castiel’s hip and hair.

He’s going to get whiplash if the Alpha keeps this up.

“Are you hungry?” he asks.

Castiel swallows back a howl and nods.

“Of course you are,” the Alpha chuckles, nuzzling at the line of Castiel’s hair, nudging it with his nose. “We’ll get you something to eat, I promise.”

A callused thumb reaches up, trailing Castiel’s torso, and wipes away a salted tear he wasn’t even aware had fallen. A damp cloth appears from nowhere seconds later and mops up Castiel’s own come from around his mouth. Dean’s lips don’t leave his skull for a second.

“So, little one,” he says, now testing the give on his slightly deflated penis, and Castiel gasps audibly at the threat, hastily rocking his hips to rest back with Dean’s in case the Alpha’s enjoyment takes route in wrenching himself _out_ as well. The man chuckles, but settles back down. Alright, that’s…alright.

“Hush, pup, it’s alright,” he presses. More tears are rubbed away. “Tell me your name. Tell me your pack, your age. Let me learn you. Please.”

Definitely…definitely getting whiplash, this isn’t normal, surely, Alpha’s…do Alpha’s usually act as though…as though they’re mentally unfit? Is this an average occurrence for an Alpha? Is this what Samandriel went through every three months, every time Joshua wanted him?

No. Castiel isn’t…he can’t do this, not every time, not…

“Sweetheart?” he’s prompted.

Castiel flinches.

“Castiel,” he says softly, pressing his cheek closer to the fur. “Of the Novak pack, nomadic, but…settled. Waiting for…for their Alpha. Sir.” Castiel shifts against the sheets, freezes, but takes it up again when Dean simply accommodates him.  “What…what else did you want to know, Alpha?”

“How old are you?”

His hand is warm against Castiel’s bicep. His lips are soft in his hair.

“Seventeen. But I matured last summer, before my birthday.”

“Seventeen,” his Alpha considers—Castiel can sense the shivers starting in his gullet. He won’t be able to control them soon. “That’s a good, strong age. We might have taken you in if you were a beta, even, we’re always in need of strong members.”

“I have a pack,” Castiel reminds him. Even taking an omega is illegal (highly, considering how much they can go for on the black market) but obtaining a beta, already belonging? Unheard of. Bad. Wrong.

The Alpha stiffens along Castiel’s spine, but it’s as though a candle has been suddenly extinguished. As though the shivers, buried for at least another hour or so if he was lucky, have risen to his throat and choked him.

He cries out once more when  the knot is wrenched from his hole, he’s knows there’s blood this time, but now Dean does too. Almost yelps as much as an Alpha can, shocked, maybe, enough to move back and cover his own penis as Castiel darts away from him.

He gets about a foot, of course, before he’s tumbling off the bed, landing heavily on more piles of furs, eye socket colliding sharply with his clenched knuckles and he whines into the air when he hears the Alpha’s bewildered “What the _fuck_?”

Castiel thinks. His limbs are awkward and gangly as he pulls himself from the ground, ignoring his blazing eyes, forgetting as much as his instincts will let him the snarling alpha at his back. He prays, when he chooses a direction. He begs inside his mind for the God’s above, to Joshua if he’s watched his wayward charge, for the tent flap.

His feet churn up the furs he moves them so fast, throwing him in the direction he’s hoped for, lunging and begging he isn’t on the path to the fire he can smell, feel pulsing heat around him.

He’s naked, he thinks belatedly, but growls when the memory of being fucked out in the open, held down and nude in front of this pack and figures he doesn’t care. He just needs…he needs to escape. To live. To have Gabriel, and Michael, and Anna—Samandriel. To escape this _beast_.

He falls onto the grass, tumbling once he’s passed two leather, untied sheets of fabric. Sweet relief has never felt so bitter.

The chatter around him falls instantly, the only noise his ragged breaths, clatters of metal—pots?—dropped to the earth. Footsteps start running, and Castiel doesn’t think they belong solely to the man he know belongs to.

If he shifts, he thinks, pulling himself from the ground and darting back the way they came, the path lead by Sam, if he shifts he could run faster. It’s been a while, he’ll be uneven, unaccustomed to four legs, but if he can do this, he could, maybe, even outrun the Alpha. He’s a slight wolf, fast. An omega. He can run.

“Cas,” comes a painfully familiar voice—not the Alpha, he still has time—but Castiel’s bones are breaking in on themselves, his skin is shifting, he doesn’t pay attention. He’s screaming in the pain he hasn’t felt in years, since last he was forced be intrusive well-wishers, and it hurts like he can never remembering it doing before. When he used to shift for fun as a child, he succumbed to this? It doesn’t seem likely— _possible_.

He hears gasps and murmurs swell through the camp with his newly sharpened ears, and he stumbles on his legs more than once in rising, but he manages it.

It doesn’t occur to him, closer now to Sam’s tent, that he hasn’t even heard the Alpha in pursuit. Hasn’t scented him near. It doesn’t occur to him that he should have been caught at least five times by now, by someone, by _him_ , until he’s being tackled to the ground by a very human, very clothed Alpha. When his scruff and collar both are fisted into strong fingers he cries out in pain, and only then does he realise his mistake.

Shouldn’t have shifted, takes too long. Should have just _run_.

He starts whining like he’s never whined before, like he’s only capable of in this form. The shivers overtake his body with a vengeance.

Dean’s second fist finds its way around his muzzle, holding it shut like a binding and it hadn’t even occurred to Castiel to snap at him, let alone bite—with intention to hurt, nonetheless. He’s either a very poor wolf or perfectly obedient omega. Then again though…omega’s don’t shift without permission. In some packs…they don’t shift at all.

He yips in something he hopes the Alpha takes as sincere apology because he doesn’t have the strength right now to shift back again ad explain himself, the panic that sometimes floods through him without rhyme or reason, overtakes his bearings. Being blind doesn’t help this, of course.

“Enough, Castiel,” is hissed into his scruff. Castiel trembles in the grip, the heavy human body an unbearable weight on top of him. He struggles to breathe. “Enough.”

He’s whining out breaths now, twitching in the grip. He can hear the rest of the pack around them, moving closer, muttering unintelligibly around them. Castiel can smell Sam close by though it might just be his tent. He can’t tell. He can’t _breathe_.

“Can you shift back?” Alpha asks, and the panic squeezes him again, but the Alpha manages to get a hold of him tighter. “Alright. Breathe, then, just calm down with me. I’m not going to hurt you in this form, I promise, alright?”

So he’ll punish him as a human then. Maybe feel less guilty, easier to gag his screams. No one likes hurting animals.

“God dammit, Dean,” Sam breathes. Castiel can’t tell where he’s stood, his blood is pumping audibly through his ears. “What did you do?”

Alpha growls in Castiel’s ear and it’s terrifying. He flattens himself to the dirt. “Back off, Sammy.”

“What the hell do you damn well think you’re doing, boy?!” comes a shout, and Castiel mewls in its direction.  His body did it, he didn’t mean to, he didn’t—

“Don’t you fucking speak to me like that, Bobby,” Alpha growls back, but it does little to quench the fear seizing him, the horror and shakes. “This is my fucking business, back off.”

“This is your business, huh? Raping blind omegas with _packs_ is your damn business?!” he roars, and even Castiel can feel Dean flinch. “Well, fuck me, son, but your daddy’s rolling in his grave.”

Dean shoves Castiel away then, pushing his nose into the dirt, eliciting a startled yelp as the man stands and stalks away from him. He starts shouting into the camp, but Castiel doesn’t listen. His belly is to the ground, tail between his legs and his ears couldn’t be more flattened if he tried. He’s not paying attention and he won’t, not until he’s told he’s allowed. Until Alpha comes back and lets him up, or he’s strong enough to shift again.

“Come here, Cas,” Sam’s timbered voice says, and Castiel ensures to keep himself entirely still when those strong arms wrap him up again and lift him—slightly more awkward with four legs, but the alpha manages—to carry him off into the tent he’d been aiming for.

The man settles him down on the same fire-warmed bed as before, strokes the same hand down his flank, and waits it out with him, silent.

Castiel manages the shift about a half hour later. Sam leads him to same basin as before and washes him in much the same way, taking extra care, this time, to wash away the blood leaked between his thighs. He smoothes salve over his swollen eye.

Dean doesn’t come back.

Castiel doesn’t get that food he was promised.

Sam tells him it might be difficult to pass for the next few days with the small tear in his passage, but at this rate Castiel doesn’t think that will be an issue.

“I’m sorry,” he mutters as the dark overshadows them. He can hear the owls beyond, chirps of insects in the grass outside. “Sometimes I can’t help it, but I don’t usually run. Will you tell him I’m sorry?”

“You have panic attacks?” Sam asks instead, and sighs out in a growl when Castiel nods his head. “I’m surprised, honestly, that you’ve only suffered from one, then. What did he do?”

Castiel blinks, ducking closer into the hand in his hair, massaging his scalp. “I said that I had a pack—he told me seventeen was a strong age, that he’d have taken me in even if I were a beta. I told him that wasn’t possible and he tensed up, and I…I must have hurt him, when I pulled away. It hurt me.”

“You bled,” Sam says simply. His fingers brush the leather edge of the collar, but he otherwise ignores it. “Is that why?”

Castiel doesn’t know what it is about Sam. His soft hands. The way his voice feels calm as it floods through him, but whatever it is, it makes Castiel _trust_. Maybe it’s the lack of kindness elsewhere, but whatever, Castiel leans into him.

“He pushed in too late,” Castiel whispers into the air. “Did…did you hear him roar?”

Sam says, “Yeah. We all did.”

“S’cause I tried to see if I was bleeding. He wasn’t happy.”

The way Sam’s hand glides through his hair reminds Castiel of Gabriel. Maybe that’s it.

“You breathing, omega?”

Castiel startles at the new voice, scuttles into Sam’s grip as it’s allowed to him, as he still can’t smell the Alpha and he can get away with it.

As it is, though, this voice belongs to the man shouting before, the one that made Dean so angry again and storm up to him. Castiel flinches as he climbs back off of Sam, muttering an apology. He hears the man step closer.

“It’s alright, he ain’t coming near you again for a while now, pup, not until you’ve healed up right. We made a deal—me and Sam here, we’re in charge of your welfare from now on. You okay?”

…huh?

“Bobby? Please don’t tell me you did anything stupid. For fuck’s sake, you know what he’s like, come on…”

“Nothing he didn’t damn well deserve. He’s off sulking in his tent, out of our damn way, everything’s fine.”

Sam manoeuvres Castiel back into his lap in what seems to be a somewhat absentminded gesture, nuzzling into his hair again, stroking along his blanketed thigh. Castiel purrs into him.

“He’s giving the kid tonight,” the new man explains, joining them with a creak of his knees and heavy breathes. “Let’s get him some sleep, get some food down him, then maybe we can all sit down and have a decent conversation about this. He agreed to that much. Fucking idiot he is.”

The new man’s hand is soft at the nape of Castiel’s neck, and his arm smells like liqueur. Castiel mewls out a yawn. Everything’s drooping.

“Bobby, he doesn’t…he doesn’t mean this, you know?” Sam says, letting Cas press his forward to a taut shoulder. “Everything with Crowley, it’s just…it fucked him up. The old Dean would’ve ripped out the throat of any Alpha that forced _anyone_ , let alone an omega. He’s just…not right, right now. But he’s getting there.”

Castiel thinks this shouldn’t feel so nice. Nuzzling into the neck of a stranger, of the man that could very well have helped hold him down as he was brutally raped in the middle of the forest—that’s blatant stupidity, surely? And excepting the touch of the man the Alpha was so furious with bare hours before, how can he really be so daft?

But it doesn’t matter, not any of it, not right now. Right now…right now feels good, for the first time in days. Now feels safe.

“I know, Sammy. I know. I just goddam hope he’s not too late.”

**Author's Note:**

> Leeeet me know if this is confusing :) and if you want me to continue.
> 
> Also, I meant 1884 (whoops) so that's why this is confusing :( sorry.
> 
> Also #2, if anyone has any prompts for this series, I would LOVE to hear them :)


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